


Come see me when you're older

by Acromania



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 13:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11105106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acromania/pseuds/Acromania
Summary: ONESHOT. He promised. He promised, but he lied. An introspective into a love never meant to happen.





	Come see me when you're older

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A oneshot for my first OTP Hermione/Sirius.
> 
> A big shout out to my beta VinoAmore for her feedback, honest criticism and fast work. Thanks so much! #betalove
> 
> Warning: sad, may be triggering to some
> 
> Disclaimer: Unfortunately Harry Potter will never be my brain child.
> 
> As ever R&R please. Feedback makes an author happy!

I don’t know what time it is. It really doesn’t matter, though. It could be half past ten or seven in the morning. The end of the world could be around the corner, but I can’t bring myself to really care. I know I am being a terrible friend because of that. I should dance under moon and stars until the sun goes up. I should be with the others to celebrate life and victory and a lifted burden. But love, they don’t know that you will be this burden for a long, long time.

Maybe if I would be outside the sky would give me a clue how long I looked at the same crashed furniture, the same rumpled sheets, the same … emptiness. Maybe it would be dark blue and endless, promising possibilities and opportunities and chances. Maybe it would show me that even gone love, you are still there. 

But I am not outside. I wasn’t for a long time, to be honest. I am sorry for that because I know how much you would have loved to be young and free and outside of this house. I tell myself often enough that I am ungrateful. That I should go, already. If only to the small garden in the back. That I should let your memory live through me, love. 

Instead I have been walking through this house like a ghost, fingertips running along desks and chairs and closets hiding under white sheets. Maybe they are as afraid as I am to face the reality of you being gone. Maybe they are as afraid to face the truth that no amount of wishing and hoping and staying rooted in time will change anything about the outcome of this one evening. Maybe they miss our lost chances like I miss them, love.

And instead of beginning my life I have been walking through your worst memories edged into these rooms like a voyeur, thought up changes that you would have loved, thought up things with which I would have lifted your burden, thought up situations that would delete your memories of this place. I know it isn’t healthy. I know you would have snorted and told me how utterly romantic and pathetic I am for this. How wasting away thinking of ifs and woulds and shoulds is childish and I am not living up to my potential. And then you would have hugged me. Do you remember? I do, love. 

The way your arms would close around my shoulders, your chin resting atop my head. How your hands would draw circles and figures and make me laugh. And how your eyes then would shine with mischief because you know how ticklish I am and how often I try to be reasonable and serious. I know that you thought I should lighten up. I would have. For you, love.

A stuttering breath escapes me, builds clouds in the cold air. I try to control it, to not sob, to not cry because you hated when I cried. And tried your best to make me smile. Or at least tried to pull me out of my misery with no-point-discussions, with yelling and arguing until I would join you. You said once, love, and I remember it vividly, that you loved the fire in my eyes.

Would you hate me if I told you that there is no fire there anymore? That they are flat and boring and shedding too many tears for something that cannot be changed? I am sorry if you do, love.

The thought of you hating me lets me look inward to at least try to appease your shadowy presence that is only in my mind. I try to find the strength that so many people associate with me. That you told me you could draw from. But staying here is my consolation and - I am sure you agree - my downfall. It is twisted, I know. And it is undoubtedly macabre to watch a life long snuffed out. But with you I experienced macabre humor and laughed until I cried.But with you I learned that life is macabre in itself. Staying here keeps me alive. To be honest, it is also effectively killing me. I am not dead, don’t worry. Not yet. Not like you, love. 

Thinking about it, I am sure you could understand the why and how and the not moving on. You always understood me, as ridiculously cliche as that may sound. But you can’t deny that you were all seeing when it came to me and my moods. One look and I would be bare in front of you, with flaws and perfections and the wishes that once moved me forward and now root me to the past. Because - we both don’t believe in it, I know - some part of my soul called out to your soul, love.

I wonder if you would still see me now, though. I feel like an old shirt, the threads unraveled, the color faded. As if I am not quite there anymore. Thinking about that, I’m not quite me anymore since you are no longer with me. The part of me that was imprinted with you is still there and maybe that’s the only thing that keeps me here. Like I said, love. I am a ghost. 

And really, like the ghosts of Hogwarts, it seems I am not able to leave this house. Believe me, I tried because I know you would be angry seeing me like this. I really, honestly tried. Stepping up to the fireplace, dirty and long gone cold. I tried the door once or twice, too, walked up to the dark wood and with shaking hands grabbed the handle. But when I flexed my arm it wouldn’t budge. Like my own body doesn’t want to leave the loneliness. Like it can’t. Because though tinted with darkness, this place holds your essence, love.

A part of me - and it frightens me how big this part is - wishes that you would be chained to this world to never leave me. Wishes that your essence in the rooms, rugs, furniture, within me would be moved by magic, forming at least a small shadow of the man that you once were. You may find it funny that I researched it. There isn’t anything that can do it, though. Not even in our world of magic, love. 

Believe me, I know this shadow wouldn’t be enough. But misery, longing and memories are excellent fertilizers for wishes. And I wish for you to be still here. That a small part of you would still exist, because love - and pardon my language - it sucks without you.

It seems, I am a ghost now, clinging to ifs that will never be. I always thought ghosts wouldn’t remember much. Their memories like an echo of their lives, maybe. But love, I’ll always remember. In detail. Vividly. How you comforted me on those stairs in front of that door that I can’t open to leave. How you made me tea and listened and smiled in a way that even now that it is just a memory still makes me blush, my heart stutter. And that makes me desperately long for more, love.

Maybe, I think brushing away the tear tracks, tasting you once, feeling you close, was my downfall without me realising it. Maybe I should have stopped my naive imagination telling me that you feel the same. Maybe I shouldn’t have interpreted your friendliness and respect and concern for me as anything more than friendship. Maybe I shouldn’t have felt like a man like you could be interested in a girl like me. But I did, love.

I remember hoping for more and for not feeling this way. I remember formulating plans, only to not go through with them because I thought myself silly. I remember arranging moments for me to show you how I feel. Only for them to slip through my grasp. Never having spoken, never having acted. I think you knew it though, didn’t you, love?

Being the person that I was back then, being the Gryffindor that I was - maybe still am - I remember I collected the bits of courage within me because failing was never my strong suit. Wallowing as well. That is something for lesser people to do, you used to say, love.

When it finally happened, I think I wasn’t in my right mind. It naturally helped that I was thin-skinned because of the pressure. Thin-skinned because my dreams casted you in the role of the male protagonist. Thin-skinned, because you, love, didn’t take my feelings for granted. Didn’t take me for granted.

And when I cried again because it was just too much and you were just there, sitting next to me with your haunted but lovely eyes, with your arm around me I took a leap of faith. I tried to kiss you and succeed for a few seconds. I told myself then and even now that you wanted it, too. There was this fantasy of a teenage girl and hope right? But being the persons that we were, love, you were so perfect in rejecting me.

“Darling, I am sorry. This isn’t right.” You said, your words vibrating against my ear while you hugged me tightly. To this day I don’t know if you tried to keep me in one piece, to soften the blow or looked for the strength to be the adult. To be the responsible person. I know that fresh tears were streaming down my face and a whirlwind of derogatory terms rushed through my head. That my cheeks were burning with embarrassment and shame for reading you so wrong. With your natural people skills, though, you made it so bearable, love. 

You were so emphatic, so caring and for a moment - just now - I still feel your rough hands caressing my red cheeks. I remember how your eyes left a burning trail on my face and this one smile, yes this right there, made my heart flutter. With understanding in your eyes and a gentle tone of voice, you said:

“Come see me when you’re older, because Hermione? I feel like coming home with you.”

I remember nodding softly. I think you never thought I would come. I think you never thought that my feelings for you were more than a fleeting devotion. I think you never knew how much you meant to me. How much it meant to me to fight with you, to be hugged by you, to be accepted the way I was, love. 

And that’s making me angry, transforming me into a Poltergeist raging inside this house. It is unfair that I never got the chance to tell you. And a part of me, though small as it may be, hates you for promising something that will never be. Even more I hate that we never got a chance, love. 

The words fall like leaves in autumn again and again from my lips. Like the ghosts of Hogwarts I am not able to find closure. Because I don’t want to. Because I can’t. Because you once said “come see me when you’re older” and now I am and you are dead. 

Because Sirius, love, I feel like being homeless without you.

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Thanks for reading!


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